


Journey

by Brightwinged



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gen, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightwinged/pseuds/Brightwinged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments and relationships in Mikleo's life, through the Shepherd's journey and afterwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Journey

**Author's Note:**

> This is not exactly a proper fic, but it's fifty three-sentence story snippets on a common theme that wound up fitting together like one. I originally posted this to Tumblr a while back, but like it enough on a reread to clean up and preserve here.
> 
> Some mentions of sex here and there, but mostly SFW.

**Cradle**

Sorey and Mikleo become important pieces of each others’ lives before they are old enough to comprehend the concept, old enough to talk. Sorey is a noisy child, crying whenever he’s sleepy or hungry or cold; Mikleo is rarely any of these things, but separate him from the other boy and his warmth and his sounds for too long, and he’ll start howling too. 

_Ah,_ say the seraphim, _then let them stay together if they choose,_ and so it goes.

**Gift**

“Gramps says I’m not supposed to tell it to anybody,” Mikleo says, his round face scrunched into a pout of consideration. “Except people I really, really, really trust.”

Sorey holds his breath in suspense and excitement until Mikleo looks at him and breaks out giggling, and pokes him in the side so he deflates, and leans over to whisper the name into his ear.

**Rain**

There’s one dark and stormy night where Zenrus leaves them in his home, cautions them not to go outside until morning. For once Mikleo’s the one distracted from their books, pressing his tiny face to the window where thunder roars and the rain pounds down, trying to breathe in the miasma he can feel outside and make sense of it. Frost spangles the glass around his hands, and lightning catches sparks in his eyes; it’s one of the few, strange times he ever frightens Sorey.

**Surprise**

On Sorey’s seventh birthday they go climbing down in some caves, and Sorey turns his ankle badly in a fall. Less than a week later, Mikleo starts learning the first of his healing cantrips from an elder seraph, and his progress is rapid. 

Of course, neither of them foresee that Mikleo, on their next trip out, will be the one to trigger a trap and give himself a concussion.

**Treasure**

“This is so cool!” Sorey shouts, hefting the ceremonial sword. It’s too long and heavy for him but it does look impressive, the burnished wood and metal inlay still gleaming softly despite its age. Mikleo laughs and agrees, but inside he’s already resolved to find a weapon that’ll really wow Sorey.

**Food**

“Lazy,” Mikleo grumbles, and puts another spoonful of ice cream into Sorey’s mouth. “I don’t see you feeding me while I study.”

Sorey looks up at him with wide eyes, and then promptly dashes off with a _wait here!_ , leaving Mikleo bemused in his wake.

**Match**

“How,” Mikleo says in perfectly flat tones, backing away from Sorey’s sheepish expression and the proffered plate of charred Dark Matter. “How did you even do this.”

He doesn’t even get close to finishing it, but to his credit, he’s the only one who ever gets past the first bite.

**Attention**

The experience of being invisible is entirely new; Mikleo doesn’t hate it, but it tangibly prickles and irritates him every time Alisha gazes through the space where he stands. He stays several paces behind her and Sorey for the most part to avoid it, and tries to think unresentful adult thoughts about Gramps’ predictions and about humans growing up and moving on. For stretches he even succeeds.

**Fearless**

On theire way back to Elysia, Sorey tells Alisha a funny little anecdote about the goats kicking him around when he was younger. Behind them Mikleo covers his mouth, and thinks about caprine misunderstandings, and the two of them sniffing back tears and bravely defending each other with sticks, and furious bleating.

He’ll remind Sorey later, and find out how much he remembers about that day; right now, he won't distract him.

**No**

“Are you sure about this?!” Mikleo calls from where he’s standing. There’s a fluttering selfish hope in his chest that Sorey won’t be, but he knows it’s futile. The need to help and the chance to live out the impossible have caught fire in Sorey’s eyes, even before he pulls Lailah's sword from the dais.

**Insult**

“Like lipstick on a pig,” Mikleo snorts, but the truth is he likes the cut of the Shepherd’s cloak on Sorey, even if all its implications make him uneasy. Sorey has the shoulders to carry the elaborate garment, and the ornate design doesn’t overshadow the cheer in his face and the brightness in his smile. 

(Mikleo catches Sorey’s eye then, realizes he’s stared a beat too long, and looks away with a huff.)

**Jealousy**

He’s not -- he’s not jealous of Alisha, who’s earnest and kind and wants only to bridge the gap and help her people. She’s pure of soul and heart and intention, and he’s sure they could be friends in time.

It’s just that Sorey’s never misunderstood him so badly before, while understanding someone else perfectly; it rankles like nothing else.

**Unexpected**

Rejection aches. Mikleo, normally a verbose debater, finds his best points locked in his throat by the crushing pressure of it, by Lailah’s too-understanding gaze. “Your _liability_ will be waiting for you back at the inn,” he snaps, and grits his teeth against the echoed hurt in Sorey’s face.

**Revolt**

Mikleo’s a bit of a hypocrite, all told: there are pains and low moments in his life he’ll choose never to tell Sorey about, either. Once he’s a Sub Lord he doesn’t see the point of recounting how he’d wandered into a particularly corrupt section of the aqueducts on his own after he left, doesn’t wish to relive how he’d tried to shove the darkened water away with his own power and been left sick and retching from the backlash, bile and corruption stinging his throat. He survived it, he’ll get stronger, and now he’s in a position to protect both himself and Sorey; that’s all that matters.

**Drunk**

He doesn’t like being in Sorey’s soul while Sorey’s burning with pact-fever. The trip in makes him nauseous and the trip out leaves him reeling and overheated, head pounding; it’s no wonder Lailah chose to spend their downtime out and about in the city instead. Mikleo doesn’t try it again, just takes a seat by the bedside and opens a book once his head clears, trying to force the words past the prickling in his eyes.

**Love**

It’s Sorey who really likes the concepts of love and romance, sighs over them in the terrible books they find; Mikleo doesn’t understand the appeal, though he’ll read along, and says as much to Lailah.

“Don’t worry, Mikleo,” she reassures him, “somewhere you’ll find the _write_ material for yourself!”

He groans, and walks away to see which new awful poem Sorey’s tracked down, and doesn’t understand why Lailah claps her hands in glee behind him.

**Follow**

Most people would be a little unnerved by someone popping up just behind their shoulder all the time, Alisha points out (but politely, because she’s Alisha and the three of them like each other rather well now.) Sorey scratches his head and laughs, and points out he’s used to it, that Mikleo’s always been there for him, all his life. 

Mikleo shrugs in quiet agreement, and they both continue not to mention how he’s standing to the wrong side of Sorey.

**Shoot**

There’s a pleasure in armatized combat that Sorey and Mikleo share in equal measure. The currents in the air around them rage, but in their veins it’s still, tranquil, a cool content confidence under their breastbone as they nock the arrow. Sorey provides the strength to draw, and Mikleo sights sharp along the shaft, and it doesn’t matter who did what, in that perfect joined instant when they fire.

**Snap**

He can’t keep being silent, can’t keep pretending that nothing’s wrong. Not when he sees every one of Sorey’s little winces; when Sorey’s reactions are beginning to fall minutely off-kilter; when he’s tilting his head and obviously straining to compensate for something that shouldn’t be gone in the first place; when everything culminates in Alisha lying on the ground with a bruise rising on her temple and her face terribly slack. He shouts a little louder than he has to at Sorey once he’s sure she’s waking up, knowing exactly what he’s doing, and wishes he didn’t have to.

**Bed**

“Is it weird to sleep in me?”

“Who even--” _asks that_ , Mikleo almost says, but of course Sorey’s curious, so he moderates it to, “it’s warm,” then after a little more thought, “I like it; it’s hard to describe, but there’s water and weather in there, and it’s comfortable.”

“Wish I could see,” Sorey murmurs, and it’s such a strange thought, that he can experience this place and Sorey can’t, when it _is_ Sorey, that Mikleo lapses into confused silence. 

**War**

They can feel the pain and conflict in Sorey’s soul as he walks towards the clashing armies, and Edna clicks her tongue in disapproval even as she sends spires of rock hurtling upward. Mikleo tries not to think about it, tries not to distract him or doubt that they’re doing their best, gritting his teeth against the screams and malevolence and fear. 

That battlefield’s where he really discovers that he’s not much good at loving humans or considering the bigger picture, only in bracing his back against Sorey’s and defending him from blow after blow after blow. 

**Bother**

Edna calls him nicknames, insults him, pokes him with her umbrella until some days he just wants to scream; he can’t stop her, and they have to work together, so like sediment-filled water, they settle into grudging equilibrium instead. 

The first time she uses his real name properly, though, it’s to startle him out of his rising panic as they follow after Sorey unseen and unheard, and to tell him everything will be all right, and to get him to dash the tears away from his eyes. He never forgets it. 

**Breath**

He dreams of Sorey after they see the ocean, dreams of them submerged and unprotected from the water, their clothes and hair trailing like wild weed in the current. Sorey’s eyes are wide and fearless in the dream, even as the last of his breath escapes in a stream of bubbles; Mikleo draws him close on the strength of that trust, presses his mouth to Sorey’s, breathes new air down clean into his lungs. 

He wakes gaspingly, tremblingly hard and exhilarated; curls deeper inside the warmth of Sorey’s soul, trying to calm down, trying to think. 

**Power**

Seraphim are meant to live forever, are meant to have forever to perfect the mastery of their skills, and so having only disjointed midnight sessions to improve his basic artes never feels like enough. Mikleo struggles by night, sleeps with his blood sluggish and cool in his veins from the effort, and sees only the minutest improvements in the aching morning. 

When he finally slides a veil between the party and Forton’s deadly gaze, eases them away to fight another day, he feels more relief than triumph. 

**Betrayal**

Dezel’s death leaves an echo which the other seraphim can’t fill, which blots out Sorey’s internal sky and leaves the once-lively air there unmoving and heavy and stale; they leave it as soon as they can and take to the streets. Once Sorey’s spoken to the others and collected his thoughts he finds Mikleo, sits with him on the lip of the fountain for a long time. 

Mikleo puts an arm around him, warding the splash and spray away, but they’re cold all the same. 

**Weary**

Sorey and Rose pass out mid-conversation, both of them running out of energy and drooping onto each other’s shoulders, their dinners left unfinished. Around the table the seraphim trade glances and murmur comments, and then Mikleo and Edna move in unison, nudging Zaveid out of the way, scooping the humans up before they can faceplant into their plates. Mikleo thinks he glimpses a cynical little smile on Edna’s face, aimed at him and at Sorey in his arms, but it’s gone when he looks up. 

**Smooth**

“Obviously I’d ask what books they liked, and what their theories were on King Meliodas the Third. If they wanted to go somewhere and were interested I’d probably take them out to the outskirts of the Mabinogio ruins -- there’s some fascinating and controversial architecture there, and it’s a beautiful spot,” Mikleo answers matter-of-factly, when Zaveid asks exactly how he’d get to know someone. 

“Kids these days,” Edna sniggers behind her umbrella, while Lailah smiles down at the three-card spread in her hand. 

**Flirt**

Zaveid also learns Sorey is the absolute worst wingman to have, ever. Mikleo can’t stop snickering quietly as Sorey engages the ladies at the bar in a conversation about the local cave systems, and if it’s true there are ancient levers and runes and possible doorways in, et cetera, et cetera. 

“Told you not to expect too much out of him,” he says later, shaking his head; Zaveid just tips his hat down over his eyes with a grunt. 

**Game**

They try to decide who’ll do the evening chores by rock-paper-scissors once. Edna loses because she won’t play anything but rock, but informs them afterward, of course, that it’s because rock always wins. 

Mikleo, who’d expected that and hadn’t participated, shakes his head from where he’s already starting their dinner. 

**First**

It’s hot, which Mikleo had expected from their books, and painful in a way that he hadn’t quite; he can’t do anything but breathe for a little bit, trying to relax. Sorey bows his head against Mikleo’s shoulder, arms still braced underneath him and little tremors running through his muscles; Mikleo can tell he wants to move. 

“Easy,” he gasps into Sorey’s hair at last, not sure which of them he’s talking to, “easy, _easy,_ ” and eventually, it is. 

**Cuddle**

In Elysia Mikleo sleeps back-to-back with Sorey or spooned up behind him, to avoid being crushed. When they share a bed on the latter half of their journey, though, this changes entirely. If Mikleo wakes up bearhugged and breathless in the middle of the night sometimes, at least it’s solid proof Sorey’s still there. 

**Dream**

Their shared dream to explore all the ruins of the world is the first he ever declares, though he’s never able to add the _with Sorey_ out loud until it’s too late. Their second, to restore relations between humans and seraphim, comes years later, when Sorey really starts to grow and they properly understand the gap between them. 

Mikleo’s third, to go out into the world and learn about the person who left him the circlet on his brow, is vague and unspoken; it comes to him anyway, in the end, and he almost wishes it hadn’t. 

**Serendipity**

“It’s strange to think about, isn’t it? We grew up together, but even when we were babies, things were all decided for us already...kind of like fate.” 

“Some of it was our own choice,” Mikleo says, refusing just yet to believe otherwise, and takes Sorey’s hand. 

**Fear**

He feels rage and hot unexamined emotion when the false Muse touches his skin, when they watch the pantomime of her giving herself up all over again in shocked silence. 

His only comfort is his new knowledge, that Symonne must have had no reason or chance to watch them in their early stumbling days outside Elysia. If she had, she might have shown him an image that would have truly made him balk: a crucible full of shadow-laden water; Lailah’s unhappy declaration of its weakness a small, dark echo in his dreams. 

**Flight**

Mikleo drifts a long time, after all pacts and bonds are severed and they float free of the malevolence’s heart. He struggles first to remember that he still _is_ , then to remember the who and the where and the why of himself, rebuilding around that core of mindless blue-white light fired from the mouth of a gun. 

It’s not till he recoalesces on the cliffside that the memory of Sorey’s last smile up at them sinks in, and it brings him to his knees. 

**Partner**

“We’re going to have to work out a different setup, or you’ll just keep comparing me to him, and it’ll get in the way,” Rose points out, ever practical. “How about, instead of Shepherd and Sub Lord, you just think of yourself as my business partner from now on?” 

“...guess I can work with that.” 

**Melancholy**

He travels with Rose along with the others; she’ll be the last Shepherd he ever pacts to or armatizes with, and only because they already know each other in that capacity. She learns not to question or tease him on the really bad days, when he keeps drifting towards her left shoulder to tell her some interesting fact or observation, then catching himself with a little inward breath. 

She does tell him to keep trying to smile, and the other seraphim bother him mercilessly, so he does again before too long. 

**Bite**

“You’d better move more snappily next time,” he deadpans, as his spell chases the ring of bloody teethmarks from the skin and meat of Lailah’s arm. 

Lailah stares at him a moment, then brushes an invisible tear from her eye, the pain already forgotten. “Mikleo, I’m so proud of you!” 

**Books**

Mikleo has decades to gather together a library, and cultivates more connections and book sources all over the continent than even he knows what to do with, over time. 

He writes a few of his own, and reads many more, learning and building and preserving the knowledge of the ages and his interests as best as he can. But the volumes that come his way and look truly interesting, timelessly fascinating, he sets aside in a vault under protective ice and magic; he wants his first real taste of them to be with Sorey. 

**Fail**

He comes out one day to find Symonne at the entrance to Elysia, her strange shadow-touched domain just brushing his, not trying to hide or threaten or overwhelm at all. 

“What do you want?” he asks. 

“Only to see how you deal with loss, and learn,” she answers, and while there’s still nothing to trust in her face, there’s a melancholy there familiar enough that, even in his anger, he doesn’t tell her to leave. 

**Forgive**

Some nights, he can’t. Some nights the light blazes too brightly from Camlann and he can’t sleep, only watch it and ache and want. He hates the world then, hates fate and the very concept of noble sacrifice. 

**Lost**

Water corrupts easily, and ice does not; Mikleo directs this principle into the capillaries that run under his skin, frost creeping from the outside in. At first it makes things easier, contains his sorrow in a small hard shell, but as the years drag by and it progresses, he catches the other seraphim watching him with a frown (or, in Symonne’s case, with dreamy interest.) 

He’s forgotten that malevolence can bloom from within a seraph’s heart, not just overtake one from an outside source; for a little while, it’s his undoing. 

**Acceptance**

Ice shatters. Through the pain and the cold he hears Edna’s grim voice as she lands the finishing blow -- _don’t you dare do this, Meebo_ \-- and for the first time in years, the words register as having meaning. 

The fight’s over then; Mikleo pants in a heap on the ground, monstrous head hanging, frozen wings and claws cracked and dangling at his sides, and remembers how to be horrified. 

**Uncertain**

When the others finally let him trudge back to Elysia, purified and heartsore but lingeringly numb, Symonne’s small dwelling is still there, with Symonne inside. 

He looks at the door for a long time; the symbols she decorated it with are unfamiliar, and she’s never been willing to explain them to him. 

At last, he knocks. 

**Revenge**

“So did you kill anyone, during your tragedy?” she asks. She’s doing some mending, sewing a shirt he recognizes as Melody’s; but for the needle’s shine it makes for a strange, discordantly domestic picture. 

“There’s only one person left now who I’ve really wanted to kill before,” he admits, and her mouth tightens when he adds, “but I still won’t.” 

**Stab**

Neither of them trust the other to pin them down, and so somehow he ends up sat leaned against the wall, Symonne curled sideways like a cat in his lap, their hands ungentle on each other and her teeth a sharp sting in his lip. She’s smaller than Mikleo, soft and lean and curving, and neither offers nor accepts reassurance. It’s nothing like with Sorey, and he’s grateful for that much. 

**Flutter**

Golden fairess jays are a migratory species, and flocks have always stopped yearly in Elysia on their way out of the continent to squabble and feed, one of the ways the villagers mark time. They leave welters of droppings and feathers; in the decades after the Shepherd's Sleep becomes legend, humans sometimes come up the lower slopes to gather the latter for religious keepsakes. 

When he finally decides to travel again, Mikleo takes just one from the small dusty store still in their house instead of the slopes, pours mana into it so it will never break or fade, and carries it away with him. 

**Music**

Mikleo likes the rivers best: their chattering gurgle, sharp energy and the way they gossip about what their currents have carried over their beds. Ponds are usually sweet as well, calm and whispering, their quiet ripples inevitably smoothing back out into silence. 

He gets used to the sea, but never listens too deeply to it; it’s too big for him, full of waves and secrets and hidden riptides, and he’s grown ever more cautious of losing himself. 

**Beauty**

Once seraphim and humans start to see each other properly (and all the ruffled feathers from _that_ development get smoothed down by the acting Shepherds of the age), Mikleo finds himself getting approached and propositioned more often than he’d like. 

It makes him self-conscious, and entertains the people he travels with, so at least someone gets some good out of his embarrassment. But the humans never do: Mikleo ends every one of those conversations with _no, I’m with someone,_ because it’s the simple truth. 

**Honesty**

“I really don’t remember much,” Sorey says, memories traded for golden hair and eternal life and the power to draw down the sun and stars to the earth, “except that I love you.” 

Mikleo swallows, bittersweet. “I love you too,” he answers, and that’s a start; they’ll have time enough for all the rest. 


End file.
